A Bluer Sky
by irishais
Summary: Ellone Loire is dead, and the only answer Squall is getting is 'blue sky.'
1. the trick is to keep breathing

_**a bluer sky**_

_-irishais-_

_Asked myself what it's all for_

_You know the funny thing about it_

_I couldn't answer_

_No I couldn't answer_

_-the seatbelts, "blue"_

**1. the trick is to keep breathing**

_Esthar_

He stood at the side of her grave, and thought very hard of a hundred other things as the first shovelful of fresh earth fell, loose and scattered, dark brown against soft yellow-red wood, glossy polished Timber oak that Laguna had chosen. Laguna had chosen everything--the grave site, the coffin, the simple pale blue dress and the preacher who delivered his sermon in a rumbling timbre that reminded Squall of the Ragnarok's engines.

Squall focused on the feel of Quistis next to him, her dress blacks blending into the sea of people and her bright blonde hair the only thing that he could make out, catching glimpses of it out of the corner of his eyes. He grabbed that image and held onto it; blonde wasn't brown earth against Timber oak. Blonde was his steadfast second-in-command, blonde was keeping him grounded.

He clenched his hands and watched as shovelful after shovelful of dirt rained down onto the pale, gleaming coffin until there was nothing left but a growing mound of dirt, rising out of a cleanly dug rectangle and spilling over onto the morning-lit green grass. Something twisted painfully inside him, twanging against nerves and tendons, sharp against his teeth like glass.

_This isn't right._

Quistis' hand was on his arm, pulling him gently away from the fading crowds, the fallen dirt. He went, and ignored the cameras that clustered around the gates to the cemetery, sliding into the dark sedan with Quistis close behind him. The seating arrangement put him between her and his father, Laguna worrying the end of his tie as he twisted it between his fingers. Squall bit his tongue against the urge to tell his father to stop it, and tasted coppery blood. He swallowed hard against the taste. The car pulled away from the curb, back into the city proper, toward the presidential palace.

He hoped that no one would say anything. It would be easier.

Unfortunately, as hard as Squall tried to project this thought to the car's occupants, Laguna cleared his throat with a half-warbled gulp, and Squall let loose a preemptive sigh.

"How long are you staying?" Laguna asked, and Squall shrugged a bit, as much as he could trapped between the two of them.

"I have to leave tomorrow. There's an ICGI hearing that I have to be at," he added, when his father opened his mouth again to protest the impending departure. "Garden doesn't run itself."

Laguna nodded, and Squall didn't know whether to be grateful or concerned with the lack of argument.

"I'll keep in touch," he said, hoping to make the sudden attack of a conscience go away. His father brightened slightly, but it wasn't much, and Squall was still trying to figure out why that bothered him as the sedan made its steady trek up the road to the palace.

"You should really think about staying for another few days, at least," Quistis said as she sat on the edge of the bed and tugged off her stockings. She neatly rolled them together, toes first. Squall watched as she got up and crossed the room to tuck the bundle in her suitcase.

The edge of the dresser bit into his hip as he leaned against it and regarded her. "We can't. There's too much to do."

"Squall, your father needs you here. I can go back; I know the contracts as well as you do. BG won't collapse if you're not around for another twenty-four hours." She stopped a few inches from him to look in the mirror over his shoulder, pulling the tortoiseshell clip out of her hair and fluffing out the strands. Squall deliberately didn't move to touch it, and after a minute, Quistis reached forward to pluck an invisible hair off the front of his shirt, smoothing the fabric with a sigh.

"There are empty rooms at Balamb. He can come there."

Laguna would, too, and stroll through the halls, loud and disruptive, telling everyone to call him "Laguna" instead of "President." He'd barge into Squall's office at inappropriate hours, interrupting conference calls and client meetings. He would make outlandish suggestions to take his only son out to dinner at the most lavish and expensive restaurants in the middle of the day. Laguna would be obnoxious, annoying, a constant presence.

Quistis smiled wearily. "You don't mean that."

Squall shrugged. "He can come if he wants to. It's not like he doesn't run his own country or anything." The words were biting, sarcastic, dry. Quistis didn't know how much longer her patience could last.

"He _delegates_, Squall. You should try it sometime."

Squall narrowed his eyes. "You don't delegate the power over an entire army," he informed her. "I have to meet with Ellone's guard again. There are things to clarify." His grip on the edge of the dresser tightened. "I still--"

Quistis reached down and tugged his wrists with a light, yet firm grip, and Squall relinquished his grip on the dresser before it broke under his grip. He hadn't un-junctioned-- she could clearly see the imprint of the heels of his hands on the top of the dark wood.

"Come on," she said, sliding her palms so that they met his. He twined his fingers into hers out of reflex. "You need sleep."

He had half a mind to protest, but Quistis didn't relinquish her grip, and the bed was possibly the most welcoming thing he had seen all day. Squall gave in, laying back against too many decorative pillows, heedless of the fact that he hadn't bothered to change out of most of his dress uniform. She sat next to him, and ran short, neatly-trimmed nails back through his hair. The motion was meant to soothe; despite that, he lay there with his eyes fixed on the rich blue canopy over the bed, Ellone's face playing across the fabric.

_This isn't right._

Something in his face must have betrayed him, because Quistis stopped her hand, and slid down on the bed so that her face was near his ear, her arm draping across his chest.

"It's alright," she murmured. Squall simply set his hand on top of hers and closed his eyes against his sister's face.

_xx_

_Deling City, Galbadia_

She closed her eyes against cheap neon lights and when she opened them again, the world was pretty much the same. A little more distorted--the street lamp in front of the building had finally given out, and a little louder. A crowd of drunk kids stumbled past, below the view of her window, grossly cheerful with too much cheap liquor and cheaper beer filling their bellies.

_Beep._

With one arm flung across her face, at least the lights went mostly away, still playing at the edges of her eyelids, trying to pry apart her lashes with tantalizing bits of blue and purple, a green stripe persistently winking in and out. It had been nearly three weeks. Xu was getting pissed.

_Beep._

She had come out here on something that wasn't even technically a mission-- Commander Leonhart had issued the orders himself, pulling an outrageous amount of money from his private account to fund the team he sent into Deling. Quistis had drawn up the contract, and when Xu received her copy, the ink was barely dry on the Garden-notarized seal.

The mission was simple: find the little shits who had killed her commander's sister. It shouldn't have taken three weeks.

_Beep._

With a grimace at the sudden, rancid smell that wafted in through three inches of open window, Xu sat up, stretching from side to side in an effort to crack her back. It helped, but only a little, and she turned her attention instead to the open computer on the cheap fiberboard desk. It was a miracle that the thing hadn't fallen apart under the slim laptop's weight-- she was decently sure that there was little more than spit and possibly chewing gum holding that piece of furniture together. Right now, though, the furniture's stability wasn't her concern; Xu sat in the rickety chair and tapped the touch pad, bringing the dark screen back to life. A tiny pop-up window in the corner blinked at her incessantly, and beeped again, begging for her attention. She slid her finger across the pad, and clicked it.

_leonhart388: You're ten minutes late with your report. Have you found anything?_

Xu's fingers hovered over the keyboard for a minute, her mind running through a myriad of responses, from "It's 0203 in the morning," to "Yes, sir, we've got him and we're teaching him how to play Triple Triad."

The first would probably earn her little more than a "So?" The second...she would probably end up in front of the firing squad. Xu sighed and hit the reply button, tapping out a quick negative. She hit send, and the remote messaging program deactivated itself when her response had been received. Selphie had set up the program-- it used transmitters specially built into Garden-issue computers, and it didn't rely on any sort of network connection. Any authorized personnel could remotely turn the program on and off from their console, regardless of where they were in relation to Garden. Tilmitt had assured them that it was one-hundred-percent secure.

"Turndown service," someone called quietly from outside the door, and Xu whirled in the chair, her gun half-drawn from its holster before she was even aware that she had been doing it.

Irvine Kinneas shouldered his way into the room and Xu relaxed, but only slightly. He was not alone. A second, pitched female voice countered with his, muttering something that Xu couldn't quite make out, and so she kept her hand on the butt of her gun, waiting until Irvine had latched the door shut behind him before she decided to say anything. The newcomer stood sullenly near Irvine's side, refusing to make eye contact with Xu. She looked damn familiar.

"You were supposed to contact me if you found anyone useful," Xu snapped, and Irvine simply rolled his eyes, gesturing toward their "guest."

"I'd say she certainly qualifies as useful." He tapped the girl on the arm, and she turned her face to Xu, neatly curled black locks bouncing with the movement. There was a moment of absolute silence as realization sunk in.

"Hi, Xu," Rinoa Heartilly said, her lips curving themselves into a forced smile. "How've you been?"


	2. just look for the cracks

**2. just look for the cracks**

_Deling City, Galbadia_

"I can't believe they're putting you up here," Rinoa said, wrinkling her nose as she sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. "This is kind of disgusting."

Xu rolled her eyes. "You slept in worse places during the war. Can the princess act. Care to tell me why you followed Kinneas like a lost puppy?"

The bed creaked as Rinoa shifted uneasily on it, and Xu thought that the Timber Princess might reconsider her decision to come here.

"How is Squall holding up?" Rinoa asked finally, worrying a nail as she studied Xu. "I keep seeing him on the news and he doesn't look well at all..."

Xu sighed in aggravation, and flicked her eyes toward Irvine in a deliberate "we don't have time for this" look. "The commander is as well as can be expected," she ground out. "Get on with it, Rinoa, please." The "please" stuck in her throat like a bad piece of fruit, but Xu forced it out anyway. _Diplomacy_, she told herself. _Diplomacy before Thundaga spells._

Rinoa set her hands in her lap, spreading the digits against her neatly pressed white skirt. "I saw Ellone that night," she said finally, sounding as if she were confessing to some horrendous crime. "I didn't think to tell anyone about it until I saw Irvine asking around. I didn't think it meant anything!" Her defensive wail made Xu want to hit her, and when it finally died away, the SeeD was relatively surprised to find the windowpanes still intact. "She was at Ninth Circle--I said hi to her. She was with a bunch of the White SeeD."

"Wait a minute. Ninth Circle?" Xu asked.

Rinoa nodded, her head moving like a broken marionette's. Xu hoped like hell that she had just imagined Rinoa's lower lip trembling--the last thing anyone needed was a hysterical Sorceress. She looked down at Rinoa's wrist quickly, and was at least moderately relieved to see the silver glint of an Odine bangle around one pale arm. "It's a restaurant. One of the best in the city," Rinoa added, a little bit of pride creeping into her voice. "Damien's the owner."

Xu ignored the wistful tone that Rinoa's voice took when the name came up. "And Damien is..."

"It's his club. Creative name, isn't it?" Rinoa smiled a bit. "He's a sweetheart, really."

_Diplomacy before Thundagas. Diplomacy before Thundagas_. Xu approximated a smile, her lips tight. "Clever, I'm sure. We'll need to talk to him, and see any surveillance video he has."

Rinoa nodded. "That's why I came. Damien's not involved, though," she said quickly. "I just wanted you all to know. I just wanted--" She twisted the bangle around her wrist. "I just wanted to try to help."

Xu offered a better smile, a slightly more genuine one. "Thank you," she said stiffly. "You have helped."

Rinoa smiled back. "Tell Squall that I'm sorry about Elle," she added, slipping off the edge of the bed. "He should come to the restaurant sometime."

"I'll walk you out," Irvine said, unlatching the door for her. "Thanks, Rin." He cast a glance at Xu, who inclined her head a tiny increment--he would see to it that Rinoa managed to make it back to the rich end of the city without someone killing her, too. As the door clicked shut behind Irvine, Xu sighed again, loudly, and yanked the portable phone off of her belt. Squall was absolutely _not _going to like this.

Irvine Kinneas had always prided himself on being able to small talk women into pretty much anything-- most of the time, it was into the nearest available bed, but he occasionally just talked to them to keep them happy. However, for the first time in his lady-killer career, he was absolutely at a loss of what to say. Rinoa walked beside him in silence, turning her head every so often to look into the window displays of stores that all appeared identical to Irvine.

"So," he said finally, because the silence was starting to get uncomfortable. "Damien."

Rinoa nodded. "He's a good guy, Irvine. Don't worry. I'm taking perfectly good care of myself."

He shrugged. "I wasn't worried. Just curious."

They stopped at a corner, just behind a group of businessmen with their ties half-undone and briefcases still in hand, and waited for the signal to change. Rinoa seemed to latch onto something Irvine hadn't said, and continued talking. "He listens. He actually _communicates_, and can carry on a conversation. He's funny. He's successful and smart." She shrugged, the brief rise and fall of her shoulders making her pale pink sweater slip off to one side. Rinoa straightened it as she rose onto her toes, trying to see the crosswalk signal over the heads of the people in front of her. She looked different, Irvine realized. Not quite as uneasy. Not looking like she expected monsters to jump out from every corner.

Irvine bit his tongue against filling in the rest of Rinoa's litany for her-- _he's easy on the eyes, he buys you everything you could possibly want, he doesn't kill people for a living._

"Well...good for you, then."

"I'm happy, Irvine."

The light changed, and they moved with the crowd, crushed up into the flow of people. Irvine put his arm casually around Rinoa's shoulders, pulling her closer to him, away from anyone who might recognize her. It was hard to say if Rinoa was a target-- already, someone closely associated with Squall had been killed. Irvine wasn't willing to take chances.

Rinoa didn't protest, but let him guide her, only saying, "Left here," when they reached another intersection. They came to a stop in front of a plain, mirrored-glass building, the words "Ninth Circle" written above the door in sans serif text.

"Here you are," he said. Rinoa nodded. "Take care of yourself."

"You, too. Come around sometime." Rinoa smiled at him, something similar to the cheerful ones she used to wear back at Garden, back when it was all sunshine and kittens-- back before she decided that Sorceress or no, she needed to live her own life. "Bring Selphie, too."

It was Irvine's turn to nod, and so he did, a quick bob of his head. "I'll let her know."

"Good night, Irvine." She turned, her palm flattening against the door to push it open, and paused. "Irvine-- tell Squall I'm alright, will you? Tell him not to worry."

Irvine nodded again. "I will."

They stood there for a moment more, and then someone stumbled out of the alley between the restaurant and its neighbor, nearly knocking down the trashcan. By the time Irvine looked up from the distraction, the door to Ninth Circle had opened and shut, and Rinoa had disappeared inside.

He glanced again at the drunk, and then turned away, moving back down the street and into the press of the evening crowds.

_xx_

_Balamb Garden_

Squall Leonhart had been back in his office for exactly four minutes and nineteen seconds when the phone on his desk shrilled loudly.

He seriously considered ignoring it.

It rang again.

"Leonhart," he said, cradling the phone between his cheek and shoulder as he picked up the stack of phone messages that his secretary had slipped in to drop off on his desk. They were all the same-- most from the ICGI, requesting confirmation on this mission or that. Ever since the International Council for Garden Institutions had started its efforts to streamline Garden operations, it had meant nothing for Squall except an increase in paperwork and a continual barrage of phone calls from their headquarters. Squall wanted to find whoever had been in charge of the project and punch them in the face.

For now, though, he half-listened to Kadowaki as she informed him of medical violations on the latest batch of cadets coming back from leave, and efficiently separated the pink slips of message paper into two piles-- one for the important ones, the other for perhaps building little buildings out of when he had free time.

Who the hell was he kidding? Squall picked up the sheaf of unimportant messages and dumped them into the black wire trashcan near his foot.

"Commander, there are also two cadets in this batch who have illicit substances showing up in their bloodstreams."

Squall stopped, his hand halfway to his computer mouse. "Drugs?"

"It's not coming up in any registered database, and neither cadet remembers taking anything. Do you want to talk to them?"

Squall shook his head. "I'll have Instructor Trepe do it. Thanks for letting me know."

"Yes, sir. I'll send you a copy of the test results, just so you can look over them. I'll also forward a copy to Instructor Trepe."

He gave a grunt of thanks, and hung up the telephone. Kadowaki was perfectly capable of admonishing a couple of cadets about drug use-- he'd let Quistis ask a few questions, to see if they were lying or not, and depending on what she found, he would have to determine an appropriate route of punishment from there.

The phone rang again, and he quelled the urge to run a lightning spell through it, instead snatching up the handset before it could ring again. "Leonhart," he repeated.

"Sir, we have a lead," Xu said, her voice perfectly neutral. "You aren't going to like it."

Squall rolled his eyes. "Tell me, and then I'll decide if I don't like it or not."

Xu paused for a second, her breath crackling with static through the receiver. "SeeD Kinneas located Rinoa Heartilly. Sir, she says that she saw Ellone Loire on the day of the murder."

Squall sat absolutely still. "How certain is she?"

"She says that she spoke with Ms. Loire at a restaurant uptown."

He barely remembered to exhale, then inhale again.

"Sir, what are your orders?" Xu's voice in his ear-- cool, unflappable Xu, reminding him that there was still a mission to do.

"Follow it. Find out everything."

"Yes, sir."

There was a dial tone in his ear, and Squall hit the disconnect button. He jabbed a series of numbers on the keypad, and drummed his fingers across the top of his desk as the phone connected to the detention facilities in Garden's basement. "This is Commander Leonhart. I want the White SeeD who were with Ellone Loire in my office immediately."


	3. epoxy on the fingers

**3. epoxy on the fingers**

_Balamb Garden_

He found Quistis in his dorm, sitting at the counter with a wave of paper spread across its surface. She scribbled a mark across the front of one of them in red ink, and looked up to smile half-heartedly at him.

"Someone slipped something into their drinks, probably," she said by way of greeting. "I told them that they needed to be more aware of their surroundings, especially on leave." She smiled a bit; it was the same lecture that Squall remembered her giving Almasy a hundred times, before he grew up to be a sorceress's puppet and Squall grew up to command a Garden.

Squall's response was to open the refrigerator and stare inside for a long moment, the cold air wafting over his face. He could feel Quistis' eyes on his back, and so he snatched up a bottle of water and straightened up, shutting the refrigerator with a stronger thud than necessary. "What year?"

"They're doing the exam in three weeks." Quistis glanced down at the papers again, and crossed something out, making a notation next to the marking.

What a time to fuck up. He unscrewed the cap on the water, and turned the plain white lid over in his hands for a few minutes, waiting until Quistis had finished writing. "I heard from Xu."

"...And?"

He rolled the lid between his thumb and forefinger, barely feeling the grooves in the calloused pads of his fingers, the products of innumerable hours with a gunblade in his hands. Xu's words still rattled around in his head--_you're not going to like this, sir_. With a frown, Squall dug his thumbnail in between two of the narrow ridges on the lid.

"Squall, are you alright?" Quistis' voice was gentle, and she set down her pen to lean forward in her seat.

"Rinoa talked to Elle. That night." The words came out thick like cotton, and he drank deep from the water bottle in the pregnant silence that followed the declaration. The re-interviewing of the White SeeD had revealed nothing--yes, they had escorted Ellone to the restaurant, and yes, they had seen Miss Heartilly there, but nothing had transpired more than a brief hello. They had left in under an hour. What happened next had taken place more than five blocks away. There was no connection between the two.

In annoyance, Squall screwed the lid back onto the half-empty bottle and set it onto the counter with a thunk. Quistis watched him with concern.

"Squall--"

He wanted to hear it from Ellone, that nothing had happened--_it's alright, Squall, I'm fine, you don't have anything to worry about._ And she would smile and he would feel better. He'd feel relieved.

"Squall, maybe you should try to relax. Xu and Irvine will handle it." Quistis smiled again at him, her lips a dusky pink line across her face, and because she looked like she was expecting something from him, Squall put his arms around her. She slipped her arms around his waist, and gave him a gentle squeeze. "The contracts you wanted reviewed are done," she murmured, making no effort to hide the change in subject.

_"We accompanied Miss Loire back toward the hotel. One SeeD faltered--he said it felt like a Slow spell. There was no other warning--if we had cast the Protect three seconds earlier..." The White SeeD's voice was hard with frustration. "I'm sorry, sir."_

"All of them?" Squall asked absently.

"Mhm."

"Right," he said. Quistis stood on her toes to press her lips against his.

_"I'm sorry, sir. We tried to stop them, but..."_

_xx_

_Deling City, Galbadia_

Two ice cubes in the glass-- _clink, clink_-- and a splash of whiskey on it. Rinoa carried the glass to the far end of the bar, dropping a blank red napkin onto the polished wood, and set the drink on that.

Gil changed hands, and she took it to the register, counting out change--all coins. Halfway through, she lost count, and with a mumbled, "Damn," started again.

"Something wrong?" Damien's breath tickled her ear as he leaned past her to grab a set of rolled silverware, and Rinoa nearly dropped the gil in her hands. He laughed, and drew back from her. Rinoa moved past him to deposit the change to its rightful owner, then turned back to her boyfriend. She plastered a smile on her face.

"I'm fine." Her cheeks hurt from smiling so forcedly, but Rinoa had learned by now that Damien couldn't tell a fake smile from a real one, anyhow, and so she moved to one of the other scattered patrons to take his order.

"You don't need to work, if you don't want to. It's not that busy. I can handle it."

Rinoa paused, and turned to look at him. He stood maybe eight inches taller than her, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled to his elbows and his red-blond hair slicked back with liberal amounts of hair gel. He had probably been taking lessons from Zell. "It's alright. It gives me something to do."

It was, in fact, giving her more of a reason to focus on trying to remember Ninth Circle's litany of mixed beverages rather than Irvine's concern and Xu's predatory attitude. She hadn't seen them in nearly a year-- the only news that Rinoa got from Garden was when Selphie called her occasionally, and whatever press conferences she happened to catch on television. Damien had been a recent development; three months ago, she had stopped in to ask about the hostess job he had available, and he had asked her out to dinner instead. He'd given the job to another girl.

"I don't date employees," had been his excuse. She had managed to con the bar job out of him anyway-- it kept them on the same schedule, at least. He wasn't Squall, but he was nice enough, and his profession was legal.

It would do.

"Babe--" and _oh_, how she hated being called "babe," it was right up there with "princess"-- "We've got a huge party coming in tonight. I need you to mingle."

"Mingle," she repeated, and set the bright blue martini in its funny-shaped glass in front of its recipient. "What sort of party?"

"Some important people," Damien said, smiling at her. "You can help me show 'em a good time."

Rinoa smiled at the customer who had bought the whiskey and pocketed the couple of bills that he had left on the table. "Sure, I'll help. No problem."

"Awesome." Damien kissed the side of her head, unmindful of her hair, and Rinoa rolled her eyes. "I gotta go," he added. "I've got a meeting with some people."

Rinoa nodded.

"I'll send Jessy over to help you."

She nodded again, and wagged her fingers. "Have fun."

Damien gave her a flirtatious wink as he stepped out from behind the bar, grabbing one of the other waitresses by the sleeve of her outrageously tight uniform shirt and murmuring something to her. The waitress glanced over at Rinoa, then headed back toward the kitchen to drop off her bus bin. Once Damien was safely out of firing range, Rinoa rolled her eyes in his direction.

Well, as long as Xu didn't come through that door, it wouldn't be such a horrible evening.

"Hi," she said, putting her attention on the newcomer who sat down on one of the stylish bar stools. "What can I get for you?"

"Water," Xu said dryly. "And your manager."

Rinoa had certainly gotten jumpy over the past few months, Xu decided. Or maybe she just had that effect on people. She watched as the younger woman crouched behind the bar to pick up the pile of napkins that she had knocked over.

"It can't be that terrifying to order water at this bar," she quipped.

"Water. Right. Sorry, you just startled me."

Xu smiled faintly. "You_did _ask me for my order."

Rinoa nodded. "I know, I know. Did you want to talk to Damien?"

"That would also be why I asked for your manager. Are we going to have to go through this with everything I say?"

Rinoa stuck her tongue out at Xu as she pressed the appropriate switch on the drinks fountain and filled a glass with water. With a flourish, she added a twist of lemon, and presented the drink to the other woman. Xu inclined her head.

"And the owner of this place?"

Rinoa smiled a bit. "He's in the back. Business meeting. I can go see if he has a minute."

"Please." Xu sipped at her water gingerly as Rinoa slipped out from behind the bar and headed toward the back of the restaurant. It was a very nice restaurant, all done in chic mirrored-black surfaces. The stool she sat in was high-backed, comfortable enough that someone could get very, very intoxicated in it and not fall off. She examined the liquor selection behind the bar, set on glass shelves and hit with muted lighting that made the bottles almost glow. There was a damn lot of imported stuff up there, more brands than she had ever heard of. It was probably a good thing that she had come and not Irvine, or else the cowboy would have had a field day with sixteen brands of whiskey. It wasn't that Irvine Kinneas wasn't _professional_, but one never knew with a self-professed "cowboy."

The water was refreshingly cold, a nice change from the heat outdoors. Xu had decided that when she finally retired, she certainly wasn't going to be taking up residence in Deling City. The overwhelming number of people made the heat that much more oppresive.

"Hey, you want one?" The guy sitting to her left held out a slim case, opened to reveal a pile of blue pills nestled in a bed of tissue paper. "They're pure."

"I'm sure," Xu murmured. "No, thanks."

Her neighbor didn't seem deterred. "You should try one. It might help you loosen up."

"I'm sure." _And so would my fist in your face_. She reminded herself again about diplomacy.

The guy shrugged. "Suit yourself. If you change your mind, there's plenty of blue sky to go around." He grinned, looking like a slightly better-groomed rodent, and Xu rolled her eyes. Rinoa returned to the bar a few seconds later, and set the tape case next to Xu. The man's little case disappeared into his pocket at her approach, and he went back to his drink.

"Sorry," Rinoa said apologetically, tapping the tape with a pink-painted nail. "He gave me the security tape, though, for you to look at. He says he wishes he could be of more help."

"It's alright." Xu slipped the small tape into the breast pocket of her shirt. "Thanks for the water."

Rinoa grinned. "Stop by any time."

Xu said something vaguely affirmative-- there was only so long that one could be around Rinoa Heartilly and not feel like they were going to vomit up kittens and rainbows-. She slipped off the high bar stool and headed for the front door. The guy who had been sitting next to her raised his glass in farewell, then drained the rest of his drink in one fell gulp.


	4. just out of center frame

_author note: My computer decided to fry itself a few days ago. This resulted in wiping and reformatting the hard drive (and it's still not working). That being said, I've lost all documents, including both the original file for A Bluer Sky and the individual chapter files. We have another computer, which I can use, just not often. This will (obviously) really slow updates, and I have no idea what I'm going to do when I return to school in two weeks if the comp's not working by then. On a less annoyed note, I'm really glad you all are enjoying this-- reviews make me grin like a maniac. Thank you so much! _

_-irishais_

_xx_

**4. just out of center frame**

_Deling City_

The city came...alive at night. There was no other way to describe it--Deling had a heartbeat. A _soul._ Ten gil to anyone who would bet him said that if he stood in one place, he'd be able to feel the thump_-thump_ of the city's pulse.

He was getting too into this, too...metaphorical. But then again, he was a dead guy walking through the heart of a city who loathed him, and who the fuck would've ever seen that one coming?

Tap, tap went the plastic of the pill bottle against his palm, and out rolled another bright blue pill. He tossed it in his mouth, swallowing, and immediately the chills went up his spine, a frigid lover's touch. _Open your mouth wide, suck down the heart of a million people. _If only it was that easy.

Goddamn, but it was hot.

He loosened the skinny black tie around his neck--like a noose, but the knot was different. Somehow, amidst all his metaphorical musings, the bottle had migrated from his right pocket to the left.

If he closed his eyes, he could taste the blue coating peeling away, chalk-white pill dust sprinkling down, down his throat.

The last few pills rattled around in the plastic bottle as he tucked it back into his pocket--almost out, and perfect timing. He pressed his palm against smooth black-glass doors and pushed them open.

"Welcome to Ninth Circle," the hostess said, a brilliant smile on her face. He smiled back at her, all the hints of a smirk around every corner. "Would you like a table, Mr. Almasy?"

By the time she had finished her welcome, Seifer had already brushed past her. "Is Damien in the back?" he called over his shoulder, and didn't wait for her reply. The dark red curtains that cut across the back right corner of the restaurant were pulled, a clear indicator that Damien was, in fact, there. Seifer edged his way through the crowd--the later it got, the more Ninth Circle turned into a club rather than a place to eat. He lifted a hand and pushed the heavy velvet aside, slipping through the curtains. The fabric fell back into place like he hadn't even touched it.

Damien held his hand out as Seifer sat in one of the empty chairs. "What's up? Haven't seen you in a while."

Seifer dug in his pocket for his wallet, and yanked out a wad of gil. "It's been three days." He took a moment to count the bills, and neatly lined them up so all the edges matched. Damien plucked them from Seifer's grasp and tucked the money into the pocket of his jacket. In exchange, he pushed a silver box across the table.

With his forefinger, Seifer flipped open the lid, scanning the neatly arranged rows of pills in their individual packets. They were all there.

"I don't cheat you," Damien said as Seifer palmed the slender case and put it away with his wallet. He sounded mildly affronted, like Seifer had offended him in some deep and personal way, even though they had been sitting together for exactly three minutes.

Seifer shrugged. "I always check." It had been ground into him since he was eight--it was the first lesson he had ever learned at Garden: _trust no one. _

Damien took a deep sip of his drink, heady red wine that Seifer could smell from here. "You want anything? Dinner, drink?"

He shook his head, looking up over Damien's greasy-gelled head. A painting hung there, all brimstone and hellfire with generous splashes of reds and oranges. It complemented the walls. Very avant-garde. Seifer couldn't decide if he hated it or not. "That new?" he asked.

"It's a Kelling. Cost me nine thousand gil. Pretty cool, isn't it?"

"Edgy."

Damien laughed, lifting his wine glass again and giving Seifer a grand toast with it. "Edgy, yeah. I like that. You have a way with words."

Seifer gazed at the painting for a moment more, the abstract blotches of reds all blurring together._ Nine thousand gil for that?_ "You got any water?"

"Yeah, yeah, we've got water." Damien tugged aside one of the curtains. "Someone get me some water," he shouted, and pulled his head back in. "I've got the best liquor money can buy, and you want water. I don't get you, man."

"That's probably a good thing."

A waitress entered, and set a black napkin in front of Seifer. She placed the water glass slightly off-center, and he took a moment to shift it just-so. The waitress hovered for a second.

"Anything else?" she asked, and Damien dismissed her.

_xx_

_Balamb Garden_

She sat near the middle of the booth, raising a half-full glass to her lips, leaning to one side to hear what one of the White SeeD said, laughing in response. She glanced up, looking directly into the camera for a split second, bright with food and drink, caught in a brilliant smile and then she turned her head--

_Pause. _

Ellone's face froze, half blurred with static. Squall thumbed a button on the remote, and the security video moved back four frames, so that Ellone was looking at him-- at the camera.

_Rewind. _

Ellone, laughing, looking up, smiling.

_Pause. _

He reached out carefully, his fingertips brushing across the screen briefly, and he withdrew when his brain finally caught up to what he was doing. With a murmured oath, Squall sat back from the small television and resumed the security video. The camera panned away from Ellone's table, swiveling to catch a girl in a black dress, hair pulled back from her face. She crossed the crowded restaurant and disappeared from the screen.

Squall stared at thirty seconds of rich people drinking, eating, laughing-- enjoying living, he assumed. The camera panned back around to Ellone's table.

She and the woman in black were speaking--if he squinted, he could make out the wide silver bangle around the woman's wrist. Rinoa. He was almost surprised when he felt little more than a brief tightening in his chest. Well, at least she looked alright. Better than the last time he had seen her, anyway, back in Kadowaki's office as the doctor fitted the Odine bracelet to Rinoa's slim wrist. He hadn't even been able to think straight, much less get a proper last look at her, the way that he was doubled over in a chair, sick with magic as she tried to force the severing of their bond.

The second that Rinoa had left out the door, he had thrown up all over the shiny white tile.

On screen, Rinoa pulled a case from who-knew-where to pluck something from it and put it in her mouth-- mints, Squall surmised, and watched as she offered one to Ellone. His sister shook her head; the case disappeared. It wasn't important. The camera pulled away again, and when it returned to Ellone's table, the group was getting up to leave. The last he saw of Elle was her back, and the fluttering ends of her pale green shawl.

He watched for a moment more, the camera completing two full rotations, but there was nothing further. The table was being cleaned off by a busboy in a crisp uniform, dish bin propped on his hip. Squall pressed the rewind button.

"Commander?" Xu cleared her throat as the video worked its way backwards, and Squall looked away from the screen.

"Yes?"

When had she come in? How long had she been standing there?

"What are your orders, sir?"

Squall shrugged.

"Sir?"

"I don't know." He glanced back down at the remote clenched in his hand, and leveled it at the television. The screen went dark with a faint _pop_. "I'm going to Deling."

"Sir? Do you really think that's wise?"

Squall stood, feeling a creak in his knees, tight from sitting too long, from rewinding, rewinding. His watch told him that it had been nine hours and five minutes since Xu had brought him the tape. He glanced back at her. "I'm going to Deling," he repeated, a bit slower, sounding surprised that she would question that.

Xu nodded. "I'll assemble a team, then, sir?"

"No."

Xu paused, then flinched-- Squall had brushed past her, and flicked on the lights in the process. "I beg your pardon, sir?"

Squall looked at her, really _looked_ at her, and for a moment, Xu was fairly certain he was going to demote her, at least. Then, something in the commander's jaw relaxed.

"Instructor Trepe and I will proceed to Deling City in place of you and Irvine. You will return to your regular duties at Garden."

Xu nodded tersely. "Yes, sir."

Squall watched her for a moment more-- if it had been any of his other senior staff, they would have left, but Xu was pure soldier, right to the core. "Dismissed," he added. Xu made it nearly all the way out in the hall before he spoke again. "Xu?"

She paused and looked back. "Yes, sir?"

"...Thank you."

"Yes, sir."

Then she was gone, shutting the door behind her and leaving Squall alone in the cramped AV room. His mind raced-- Xu's dismissal from the mission had been impulsive, unplanned. They hadn't uncovered anything except Rinoa and some security footage; whether he wanted to or not, Squall had to go there, to see the place with his own eyes. There had to be something that his team had missed. He wasn't willing to admit this might have simply been chance-- not yet.

He needed to talk to Rinoa. None of this made _sense. _

With a grimace, Squall banged his fist against an abandoned computer terminal, only to jerk his hand back at the cracking of plastic. The casing bit deep into the side of his hand. He glared at the destroyed terminal; it offered up a spiral of dusty smoke, finally giving up the ghost. Grabbing a spare cleaning rag, Squall wrapped it around his bleeding hand.

"Dammit," he muttered. Ifrit snarled in agreement, and Squall stalked out of the audio-visual room.


	5. lights and sirens

_author note: I cannot even explain how much this chapter fought me. Gah. _

**5. lights and sirens**

_Deling City_

"Would you _please _stop pacing?" Quistis demanded finally, recapping her lipstick and tossing the blue tube back into her tiny cosmetics bag. She glared at Squall-- more accurately, she glared at Squall's reflection as he passed by the open bathroom door yet again. The commander glared back, and stopped moving. "Would you relax?"

"I am relaxed."

Quistis rolled her eyes and picked up the curling iron. "Your tie isn't done right," she pointed out as she attacked a wayward lock of hair, curling it back up. She surveyed the results, and then sprayed it viciously into place. Squall glanced down at his tie, and muttered impolite things under his breath as he undid the knot. "She's probably not even going to _be _there," Quistis added, sliding small earrings into place. "And from what I've heard about this place, we probably won't run into her even if we tried."

Squall pulled the knot on his tie out a second time, and Quistis finally sighed, turning to face him. Her hands worked the tie neatly into place. "There," she said, straightening it and smoothing down the silk. "Better."

He muttered something that might have been, "Thanks."

"Hold on, the prosthetic's moving." Quistis reached up, pressing the latex down more firmly over the scar across his forehead-- normally, Squall wouldn't have bothered, since he was too recognizable to do reconnaissance work, but in this case, he had deemed it necessary. The less of a chance they took on being recognized, the better. He made a face; the prosthetic cover itched.

Quistis slipped past him, moving out of the bathroom. Squall followed, crossing his arms as he watched her put on her shoes, strappy black ones he had no idea she'd even owned. She barely looked like herself, with her hair down and a sleek black dress fitting like it had been tailored for her. It was surprising, really, how easily Quistis Trepe could become a different person.

"You should think about covert ops," he said finally. Quistis blinked at him, then smiled faintly. She turned her attention back to rearranging the contents of her purse so that the tiny handgun fit at the bottom.

"I'm going to take that as a compliment."

Squall nodded, taking his dinner jacket as she passed it to him. He held the door for her as they left.

The lobby was full as they crossed it, a nod to the variety of Deling City nightlife. The bar was absolutely packed, and as he and Quistis passed the check-in desk, a drunken couple was laughing as they tried to make a reservation. The doorman smiled and bid them, "Have a good evening," as they exited the hotel.

Quistis hailed a cab once they were outside, the warm night air playing across her face and ruffling the curls she had so carefully set into place. "I'm not walking that far in these shoes," she explained, when Squall threw her a questioning look, already halfway down the sidewalk before he'd realized she wasn't following.

"Right."

Getting a taxi at this hour in the city usually proved nigh impossible, but that evening, luck was on their side, and a driver who had just come off break pulled to a stop in front of them. Quistis slipped inside, Squall immediately after her. He gave the address.

"Having a nice vacation?" the cab driver asked with a grin as he eased the cab back into the flow of traffic.

Quistis smiled politely. "Yes."

"This city's a great place to have a vacation. Good nightlife. You guys going to that new club?"

Squall rolled his eyes and contemplated simply bailing out of the car at the next light. "Yeah," he said instead, his tone clearly indicating that the cabbie should shut up. He resisted the urge to scratch his forehead.

"I've heard nothin' but good about that place--good food, good booze, some damn good parties." The driver hunched over the wheel, glancing out into the intersection before applying his foot liberally to the gas pedal. The cab shot out, narrowly avoiding being smashed between a couple of other cars, and Squall groaned. The look he gave to Quistis clearly read, _We are probably going to die. _

"Oh," Quistis said politely, ignoring Squall's expression. "That's good. It sounds like fun."

"It is, lady, it is. And speak of the devil, here we are. That'll be twenty-three gil, if you'd be so kind."

Squall passed a few bills to the driver, and slid out of the cab before change could be made. "Keep it," he muttered.

Quistis rolled her eyes at them as they walked to the front door of the restaurant.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing," Quistis replied, slipping past him into the restaurant. Squall shrugged and followed her.

_xx_

"Babe, you want another one?"

Damien's hand in front of her, a pill in its neat clear-plastic wrapper resting in the center of his palm, tilted a little as it settled into the wrinkle of his lifeline. Rinoa shook her head. He was gone, far too gone to really process full sentences, and so Rinoa simply shook her head, slipping out from underneath his arm.

"Where you going, babe?"

"I need another drink."

"Well, hey, don't go, someone'll just bring you one. Hey, you." Damien reached out and tugged the short skirt of one of his waitresses. "Get my girl another...what the hell're you drinking?"

Rinoa smiled, lips pressed thin. "I need some air," she told him, and pushed aside the heavy curtains.

"Well, get me something, too, okay, babe?"

She nodded. "Sure, whatever."

_Oh, great, now I'm starting to sound like Squall_. Damien blew her a kiss, and she idly envisioned dumping any drink she might acquire straight onto his head, ice or no. It only made her feel a little bit better.

"Tell 'em to go easy on the fucking ice this time, too."

Rinoa barely heard him as the curtains fell behind her. She wondered if he would notice if she simply left the party in favor of the unmade bed and its silk sheets upstairs. In favor of a hot bath and an aspirin. In favor of...well, anything that wasn't her boyfriend's half-coherent ramblings on the nature of the universe. There was only so long that she could listen to that stuff, in an altered state of being or otherwise.

Her train of thought very sharply derailed as she ran smack into someone, getting a mouthful of necktie. "I'm sorry," she murmured, drawing back. There was a stain of lipstick on the tie she had encountered, sharp red against soft grey. She vaguely remembered giving Squall the same tie for his birthday one year. That had been the year that she had known things were going down the drain, when she gave him a _tie _of all things. Some of his uncreativity had certainly rubbed off on her by then. "I'm sorry," she repeated, touching the stain carefully. "Let me get a napkin."

"...It's alright."

There was an excruciatingly long moment in which Rinoa's brain ceased all functioning.

"...Squall?" she finally worked out, and felt like an idiot when she realized her hand was still against his chest. She jerked her arm back. Squall opened his mouth to say something when a dry, smooth voice interrupted anything that the commander might have said.

"Oh, why don't we _all _sit down and catch up?" Seifer Almasy asked, taking a generous sip of his drink and smirking at both of them.

"Seifer," Squall said coldly. "What are you doing here?"

Seifer's smirk grew even wider. "I'm enjoying the party. You should get a drink. Maybe you'd loosen up a bit."

Rinoa decided right then and there that if there _was_a god, they almost certainly hated her.

_xx_

Quistis stirred the ice cubes around in her drink for the hundredth time, and decided that Squall had gotten lost on the way to the restroom, or perhaps he had fallen in. That would certainly make some interesting paperwork. _Garden Commander Found Drowned in Toilet. _

She managed to entertain herself for approximately thirty five seconds thinking up outrageous newspaper headlines before she gave up and downed the end of her drink.

"Can I get you another one?" the bartender asked, reaching for the glass almost before it hit the bar. Quistis shook her head. "That'll be nine gil, then."

Quistis sighed. A _good _drink in Balamb would have been half that, and that had hardly been a good drink. She rooted around in her purse for her wallet, and passed over a bill. The bartender turned her back on Quistis to make change.

"Come on," Squall said abruptly, reappearing at her side. "We're getting out of here."

"What happened?" Quistis asked, taking her change and the mint that the bartender handed her. She dumped the bills into her purse and tore open the package.

Squall merely glowered as he waited for her to gather her things.

"Oh, it can't have been that bad," Quistis sighed. He glared at her. "Fine. I'm sure it was the end of the world." She popped the mint into her mouth, and made a face as it sort of fizzed on her tongue. She should have suspected that a bar like this wouldn't have_normal _mints.

"Seifer."

"What?" she asked, a sudden spike in the volume of the music obscuring what Squall had said.

"Almasy's here," Squall explained, elbowing his way through the crowd. Quistis tucked her hand in his to keep up, her head fairly buzzing from the noise. She would be grateful to get out of the restaurant, and back into the hotel, where it was _quiet. _

Squall held the door for her, and caught her as the heel of her shoe snagged on the doorframe. "You alright?" he asked.

"Fine. Just my shoe." Quistis smiled faintly as she lifted her leg to adjust the strap around her ankle. "There. Better." She straightened, and smoothed her skirt around her hips. "Squall, what's wrong?"

"Are you sure you're alright?" He was looking at her suspiciously, and Quistis glanced down at the front of her dress in confusion.

"Yeah, I'm fine. What's--" She stopped talking abruptly. Her voice sounded _strange_, drawn out, slurred, like someone had put her on slow-motion. Squall reached out suddenly and grabbed her upper arms just as Quistis' knees gave way.

"Quistis?"

His voice sounded funny, too, crackly like feedback.

_Bad connection_, she thought fuzzily, and grabbed hold of his sleeves as gravity forced itself down on her shoulders.

"What's happening?" Quistis worked out, her tongue thick and fuzzy in her mouth. "Squall--"

"_Quistis_!"


	6. take a polaroid and let you go

_A/N: Four papers, five major exams, and some sleep deprivation later--seriously, kids, stay in school. It's fun! _

**6. take a polaroid and let you go**

_Galbadia Hotel_

She knocked twice on the hotel room door, sharp, crisp sounds that didn't leave an echo. Commander Leonhart answered, even less professional than usual in his half-buttoned shirt and pants with dirt stains on the knees. He'd unbuttoned the sleeves and rolled them up to his elbows, and the muscles in his forearm flexed as he ran a hand through the disarray that tried to pass itself off as hair on top of his head. 

"The warrant?" he asked, holding out his hand for it even before Xu had entered the room entirely. She set her thin satchel on one of the highly-polished end tables and extracted the crisply folded paper. She set it in his hand, and stood at attention as he scanned the document. _At ease _was not part of Xu's professional vocabulary. The commander finished reading the warrant, verifying its contents, and then held out his hand expectantly for a pen. Xu slipped one out of her bag, clicked the tip down, and passed it to him, shifting aside as he set the paper down on the table next to her bag and scrawled his signature across the bottom. His name was cramped and messy, nearly illegible, but the important bits were there, and it matched what was on file, at least. Xu retrieved the warrant, folded it neatly back across the original creases, set it aside on the table again for safe keeping. "Thank you," Squall said finally, setting the pen on the table. He did not elaborate. 

Xu nodded crisply. "Yes, sir." 

"Relax," he said, his voice tired. "Just-- relax." The commander waved her toward the pair of overstuffed chairs, and Xu waited until he had dropped into one of them before seating herself. "What's Garden's status?" 

"As to be expected, sir. The cadets are pissed off about their lack of leave. So are the SeeDs--they're just hiding it better." She smiled tightly, but the commander either didn't pick up on the joke, or didn't care, because he simply stared elsewhere. Xu paused. "We found six more cases of the drug," she said finally. 

That got his attention. Squall turned his head in her general direction. 

She continued. "SeeDs who took a personal day in Trabia before coming back from their mission. We got a call from the hospital up there." 

"Are they alright?"

"They were well enough to take the train within twenty-four hours," Xu said. "Dr. Kadowaki's classifying it as a recreational drug for now. None of the cases have shown any long-term effects, outside of a bit of fatigue, and some foggy memories." 

He nodded. The doctors at Deling Medical had told him the same thing. The drug just had to run its course; Quistis was under a strict water-only diet until it did. She had refused to stay under observation; Squall had gone against a good bit of better judgment and called a cab. She had told him groggily that there was no point in staying if they couldn't do anything--she had also said something about butterflies, and then fallen asleep on his shoulder. 

Squall grimaced at the recollection. If what Xu was telling him was accurate--and he had no reason to doubt her--then everything he'd thought he had figured out about the drug's distribution center was crap. Trabia, Deling, Balamb. Where the hell else was it going to show up? _Esthar?_ Silently, he made a note to call President Loire. 

"Sir..." Xu was looking at him in concern. "Are you alright?" 

He waved her off. "Fine," he said briskly. "Kinneas has his team assembled?" 

Xu nodded. "Yes, sir. Three SeeDs, all qualified B-rank or higher marksmen." 

"Good. Get them in place by 2100," he ordered. "I want everyone who looks important in that place in custody." 

Xu stood as he did, saluting sharply. "Understood, Commander." 

He dismissed her with a nod, and as Xu gathered up her bag, Squall moved into the adjacent room, pausing in the doorless frame to look at the bed and its occupant carefully. Quistis had curled up on one side, the pillow scrunched up between her head and forearm, the blanket half-heartedly pulled over her torso. He took a quiet step in, and then another, until he'd reached her side of the bed. Gently, he touched her shoulder. 

"Quistis." 

She murmured something, and shifted slightly. He tapped her arm again, and she opened her eyes slowly, blinking against the sunset that slipped in through the curtains. "What?" she said, her voice sounding less like she had cotton stuffed in there, and more like herself--a drier, quieter version, but still, the improvement was there. She made a face, and moved to grab the water bottle on the little nightstand. "Something wrong?" 

He shook his head. "We've got the warrant for Ninth Circle. Irvine and I are taking a team in there at 2100." 

Quistis nodded, screwing the lid back on the bottle and setting it back in its original spot. She spared a glance at the alarm clock, squinted, picked up her glasses, and looked at it again. "I'll get ready," she said, pushing aside the quilted cover.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Are you alright?"

Quistis smiled faintly at him. "At half health, I'm better than Irvine," she said, punctuating it with a small laugh that came out sounding a faded echo of the original. 

"Are you sure?" 

She rolled her eyes at him. "I've got four hours. A shower and a cup of coffee will do it." 

He paused, considering his options if he were to deny her the mission. None of them came out in his favor, short of ordering her to stay at the hotel, and even that... "I'll order you off it, if it doesn't help," he warned. Quistis stood and glanced at him. 

"If you don't mind never having sex again," she replied as loftily as she could, and eased past him toward the bathroom, pausing only once in the doorway to regain her balance. Squall watched her go critically. 

_Trabia, Deling, Balamb..._

Even if they shut it down here, where would it show up next? 

_xx_

_Ninth Circle_

Seifer Almasy was feeling pretty goddamn lucky this evening. He'd seen the ambulance, seen_ Instructor _Trepe get carted off to the hospital because she had purified her insides to shit and couldn't handle a little blue sky. Hell, even his encounter with Leonhart hadn't done much to dull his mood, because right now, he was winning, and with a damn good hand to boot. 

He pulled a card from the stack in the center, and smiled just a bit, right at the corners of his mouth where no one would notice. Rinoa, dolled up in her evening finery, all glitter and silver, her hair teased back in that fashionable way that made girls look like Estharian poodles, leaned over and whispered something in Damien's ear. He raised an eyebrow at Seifer, who merely lifted his glass in a parody of a salute. 

"Your turn," he said, his voice perfectly placid. 

Damien smirked a bit. "Your poker face isn't as good as you think," he said cheerfully, draining the end of his vodka concoction so thick that Seifer could smell it from across the table. "I like a risk-taker." 

"Pick a goddamn card," Seifer said.

Damien tsk-ed. "You're so eager to leave. I should be offended." 

Seifer rolled his eyes. "I assume you want your pills sold before you're six feet under." 

The club owner sneered, and shoved a pile of gil into the middle of the table. "You're gonna be a poor man before this is over. Pills or no pills." 

Seifer threw back his head and laughed, dropping his hand of cards on the table for all to see. There was a round of chattering, murmurs about the easy win, and Damien tossed his cards into the center of the money pile in disgust.

"Take it," he snapped. "And get the hell out of here." 

Seifer pulled the wads of cash towards him, arranging the bills in a neat stack and folding them into his wallet. He left the change in a pile. "For the good loser," he said with a smirk, tucking his wallet in his pants pocket as he stood. He winked at Rinoa--she made a face at him. "Good night to you, too, Princess." 

"Whatever, Seifer." She looked away from him as he lifted his jacket from the back of his chair. He blew her a kiss, and ignored the crude gesture that Damien gave him in return. With a grin, Seifer double checked his pocket to make sure the silver case with his share of blue sky was safely where he had left it, and pushed aside the velvet curtain. He paused. 

"Where the fuck is everyone--" he started to demand, looking back over his shoulder at Damien, who had half-risen out of his chair with Seifer's outburst. 

The front window of the club blew inward. 


	7. close my eyes and maybe it'll go away

**7. close my eyes and maybe it'll go away**

_Deling City_

Seifer Almasy threw his hands in front of his face, and swore as shards of glass peppered into the skin on his arms. His movement was nearly too late; a jagged chunk of the front window sailed across his temple, leaving a shallow slice in its wake. He stumbled and turned back to the curtained-off section of the club, and hit the floor hard instead as someone came flying out of the smoke, tackling him to the ground. Whoever had him was not gentle as they jerked his arms around sharply behind his back, clamping handcuffs tightly around his wrists. Seifer let out a stream of expletives; his assailant pressed a hand against the side of his head, keeping his face pushed into the elegant wood paneling.

"Get the _fuck _off of me," he snarled, thrashing his body against the weight on his spine. There was a snort of derisive laughter, faint amidst the chaos around them.

"You're not really in a position to be giving orders," Xu said coolly, digging her knees into his side a bit more sharply. Seifer hissed as tiny bits of glass bit into his cheek; he could _feel _Xu smirking at him as she reeled off his rights in accordance with the Garden code, and the powers that were of Deling City. "And right now, you're not looking like you've got any more options left," she added, rocking back and off of him, one hand digging into the back of his shirt and the other around his left wrist. Seifer rolled his eyes as Xu, deceptively tiny Xu, hauled him to his feet.

He wasn't certain, due to the blood dripping into his eyes, if he saw Leonhart on the way out of the club, but Xu shoved him into the back of an impressively black sedan, and Seifer saw nothing else from the scene as the car pulled away and into the mostly empty three a.m. streets.

_xx_

The back room of Ninth Circle was kept at a steady fifty degrees, cool enough that goose bumps stood out on Rinoa's arms and shoulders as Damien pulled her through the narrow walkway. Boxes loomed on either side of them, stacked high to the ceiling against all regulations; in the center of the ceiling, a boxy industrial air conditioner groaned and creaked as it blew a steady stream of frigid air.

Rinoa tripped as her heels decided to go one way and the rest of her body the other, and winced at the sound of tearing silk as she stumbled against a packing crate. Damien's grip was strong around her hand—she didn't bother to try convincing him that running from SeeD was going to be absolutely futile. She had been able to pick up Squall's voice among the chorus of screams that told them to _get down on the ground_, _right now or I will shoot you!_

She would know his voice anywhere.

Rinoa tugged her dress free of the nail it had snagged on. Damien didn't so much as glance back at her—his attention was focused on getting to the loading dock, a scant twenty, ten, five feet away.

He smashed a series of keys on the lock pad, and the door came alive with a steady thrum as it slid up. Damien ducked underneath, through the short opening, and pulled her out after him. Her right shoe caught in the thin break between the floor of the storage room and the concrete loading dock. She swore as she stumbled, nearly falling right on top of him.

"Babe, come _on_," he said impatiently. Rinoa bit back a myriad of responses, most of them bitter—_I'm not dressed for running from a team of highly-trained mercenaries_, for one—and instead righted herself with a sigh.

"This is ridiculous," she said, and wasn't sure if it was more for her benefit or Damien's.

"Yeah, well, hurry up—we gotta get out of here." He hopped off the edge of the dock, landing solidly on his feet, turning to help her down. Rinoa reached for his hand, gathering her dress up again, and then stopped, jerking her hand out of his grasp. Damien looked at her incredulously.

"Rin, seriously, we gotta _go_."

"Damien—" she began, her eyes fixed on his chest. He glared at her.

"What? We don't have _time_ for this, Rinoa..."

"Damien, _get down!_" she shrieked, but the words came too late, slipping out of her mouth in the wake of a quiet _pop_, and as she watched, rooted where she stood, a dark hole opened up in Damien's shoulder. He looked up at her, his mouth gaping soundlessly, a fish gasping for air. He stepped backward hesitantly.

"_Damien_!"

Her boyfriend unsteadily lifted a hand to the wound, looking at his fingers as he pulled them away, absorbing the sight of bright red blood spattered across his fingertips. Something hard lodged in Rinoa's throat.

_So this is it, Squall?_

"Damien--"

There was a second shot, and this time there were no red crosshairs to warn them. Damien's knees buckled, and he crumpled to the ground.

Rinoa screamed.

The cement dock came rushing up to meet her, and Rinoa closed her eyes against the impact, against Quistis' hands latched tight around her arms, against Quistis' voice in her ear.

_xx_

He buys her presents when he's out on mission, little trinkets that he doesn't think she'll like, or things that remind him of her. Things that might remind her of him, in the wake of that inevitable _one day, some day, you'll wake up all alone. _A lacquered shell on a chain from a touristy Centran gift shop, a mug made of the melted metal of Galbadian war bullets. Maybe it was the mug that did it in, after all, when she shoved her things in a pastel-flowered suitcase to waltz out the door while he was crumpled on the floor of the infirmary. He still has the mug; it's sitting in the cabinet, where he doesn't look at it. Quistis likes it, uses it occasionally for her tea. He knows this for a fact, because he has come into the apartment and it is turned upside down in the sink, water droplets running down the side. She's cleaned it, but never dries. Rinoa never did the dishes period; she used to laugh when she smelled his hands and they were scented like apple dish soap.

_(It was all the commissary had! _

_A likely story...you like the way it smells. _

_...Whatever. )_

It took him a couple of months before he stopped bringing home inexpensive jewelry made from shells. Quistis used to wear the necklaces every so often, under her uniform, just to try to make him feel better.

Squall stared very hard at the segment of wall that had been pushed away, a painting torn down and tossed aside, the pits of hell turned asunder. The passageway was dim, but light from the warehouse beyond filtered through. It had taken him three seconds to figure out how Damien had gotten out...not that it wasn't pathetically obvious to even the most junior SeeDs on the team. A civilian could have figured it out in the same amount of time.

Right now, though, his attention had moved from the obvious escape route to the people who were working their way back through it; Quistis, in her mission blacks, her whip chained up at her waist, her lips set in a perfectly straight dusky line. She eased her prisoner through the doorway, the woman blinking and bruised, the dark splotch on her cheek visible from here, red streaking down like running makeup. She stumbled along on shoes that were too impractical to be worth as much as she probably paid for them; her silver dress torn and dirty around the hem, dust on her knees, down her legs. She looked like she'd been hit by a truck.

_Rinoa. _

"Target is down, sir," Quistis said, her tone brisk. Squall nodded halfway. "They're getting him into the van."

The van--the ambulance, nondescript, hired out to pick up the wounded.

"How many shots?"

"Two, sir."

"Alive?"

"Nonfatal upper torso wounds."

"_Squall_, how--"

Squall glanced at Rinoa briefly. "Get her out of here," he said, and strode past them to the crowd of SeeDs and Deling underground elite in Damien's private alcove.

"Squall!" Rinoa shouted, planting her feet against the flooring as Quistis made to move forward. The commander looked back, and Rinoa twisted in Quistis' grip to glare at him. "I hate you," she said.

He nodded, and turned back away.

"Let's go, Rinoa," Quistis said, her voice that rare mix of professional and gentle that Rinoa used to dream of being able to command; even as Rinoa was eased into the back of a Garden car, Quistis' touch was easy, _I'm not going to harm you _radiating from her pores. The throbbing in Rinoa's face said otherwise, but right now, both of them knew--where else would she have to run to?

Rinoa shifted her arms, cuffed tightly behind her back, and stared out the black-tinted window as the car pulled away from the curb.

"For what it's worth," Quistis said quietly, sounding a million miles away on the other end of the seat, "I am sorry about Damien."

Rinoa shrugged. "I'd rather not talk about it," she replied curtly.

"Still," Quistis persisted, and Rinoa, for the first time that she could remember since the war, wished that wise, wise Quistis would just shut the hell up.

* * *

_A/N: I really do apologize with the extraordinary lack of updates. I just finished my next-to-last semester at college, and the last two weeks were absolutely brutal. Now that I've gotten settled in back home, though, updates should return to a more timely schedule. I've got everything outlined to the end; it's all just a matter of getting it polished up and posted. Thanks for putting up with me; I do hope you're still enjoying this fic. _


	8. she keeps you bottled up like sea glass

**8. she keeps you bottled up like sea glass**

_First Street Police Station_

_Deling City_

"How long have they been at it?"

"Four hours, sixteen minutes, and...thirty-eight seconds."

"I'm surprised the glass hasn't shattered yet. Coffee?"

"I'd call you a saint, but I don't think you'd appreciate the religious implications."

"Says the mercenary."

Quistis snorted softly and took the styrene cup of coffee from Xu. "I'm beginning to think I should go in there and stop them from killing each other."

"Easier said than done. Have you _seen _Rinoa's limit?" Xu's laugh was brief. "I think I'd rather take on a herd of Mesmerizes."

"Mm." Quistis turned the cup between her palms slowly, watching the dark brown liquid spin clockwise, then counter-so. The distraction did little to ease her thoughts. Xu leaned against the wall and regarded her friend critically; Quistis raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were jealous."

Quistis blinked. "Are you out of your _mind_?"

Xu shrugged. "Probably. Are you?"

"I am--I could--_No. _This is not a topic that is open for discussion."

The older woman shrugged again, and sipped at her coffee, waiting patiently for an answer. Quistis felt her cheeks flush hot; she drained a quarter of her coffee before diverting the conversation at hand.

"I never expected to see Rinoa getting involved in something like this. It's so unlike her."

Xu chuckled. "I have no trouble believing it. She always did want to be right in the middle of something dangerous." Somehow, Xu managed to smirk and finish her coffee simultaneously, a trick that Quistis had never figured out quite how to master. Then again, Quistis wasn't really big on the whole _smirking _thing; she left that in the hands of people like Xu, Almasy, and Selphie when the brunette was feeling particularly dangerous. Quistis turned back to the one-way window. Beyond the glass was a bland gray interrogation room, graciously rented out to them by the Deling City police. Quistis had offered to talk to Rinoa herself, but Squall had sharply denied her the privilege; now that the commander was in there with his ex-girlfriend, Quistis was beginning to think that she should have gone in his place anyway. For every question that Squall, in an admirably painstakingly concise tone, had asked Rinoa, she had retorted with a smart response or a noise of indignation. This only provoked Squall into raising his voice, which led to Rinoa raising _hers _to match, which...Well, it wasn't pretty, and Garden was probably going to have to replace the external speakers by the time they finished. Sighing, Quistis reached for the volume knob on the wall and turned it up an increment.

_"How long have you been involved with this drug?" _

_"I don't know, Squall--how long were you waiting before you took the opportunity to _shoot_ my boyfriend?" _

_"Rinoa, can you just answer the question?" _

_"No, I won't. Not until you answer mine--" _

Squall threw his arms up in disgust and turned sharply on his heel, exiting the interrogation room, slamming the door shut behind him. Rinoa sat back indignantly in her chair and crossed her arms, glaring at the closed door and the SeeD guard who stood watch outside. Quistis had to look away.

Squall stopped directly in front of the coffee maker. Quistis didn't say anything until he'd succeeded in filling one of the plain white cups mostly full of coffee.

"Are you going to let her go?"

Squall glared very hard at a section of wall.

There were only two options that could be taken--one was that he simply released Rinoa, and she went back to doing whatever it was that she did in Deling--_illicit drugs, planning rebellions, spending too much money_--or he could arrest her strictly on the blue sky drug charges. For some reason, Quistis couldn't quite see Squall incarcerating Rinoa for any length of time, even if it went with the contract that he was paying a hefty chunk of his own money to orchestrate.

Squall took a deep breath, and an equally deep swallow of the bitter black coffee. "Xu," he said finally, his voice precisely even. She snapped to attention. "Interrogate Almasy again. Find out everything he knows about Damien. Everything about this damn drug, everything about the people buying it. _Everything_."

Xu nodded, tossing out a "yes, _sir_," as she slipped through the space between Quistis and Squall.

Quistis waited patiently, until Xu had disappeared through the automatic door at the end of the short corridor. "Well?"

Squall shoved his hand through his hair absently, pushing back the rogue strands from his forehead. "I don't know. She's not telling me anything."

"Nothing?"

He sighed frustratedly. "All I know is that she saw my sister the day that--" A sharp pause. "She wasn't involved with anything short of taking that damn drug, and I don't want the drug. I want who killed Elle."

_xx_

It had begun to rain, fat, heavy droplets beating down on the pavement; a spring storm, Quistis decided. A minor irritant, and quickly over with.

Quistis stood near to Rinoa as they waited for the car that Rinoa had said was coming, having gotten the call on her cell phone while waiting for someone to come back into the interrogation room. Neither party made an effort to speak to one another; the way that Rinoa's jaw was set made Quistis feel that the parking lot could be Angel Winged at any moment, regardless of the Odine bracelet around the girl's slender wrist. After all, one of the precepts of being SeeD included knowing when to pick one's battles--whatever potentiality Rinoa's temper held, Quistis knew for certain that she did not want to be on the receiving end of it.

A sleek dove-gray town car turned into the parking lot at that moment, and Quistis let out a breath that she hadn't been completely aware of holding. It wasn't that she didn't like Rinoa as a person; she did, genuinely. It was more the idea of getting Rinoa out of the situation for at least a little while. There were only so many raging shouting matches that Quistis could take between Squall and Rinoa--they had been loud enough to make the floors tremble when things had first come to a nasty head.

At least she could channel most of that blame to the fact that both of them had been junctioned. As it stood, arguments between Quistis and Squall had resulted in more than one dented wall.

The driver of the town car stepped out, unfurling a dark umbrella as he walked around to the passenger side door. Rinoa stepped out from under the awning, without so much as a "see you" escaping from her tightly pursed lips. Quistis could see the tear in the hem of the girl's dress as Rinoa walked away.

"Excuse me," she said as the driver shut the door and made to return to the wheel. He paused, and looked up at her expectantly. "She can't leave town, under SeeD order."

He nodded. "I'll keep that in mind, then, ma'am."

Quistis nodded. "Right. Thank you--"

But the driver had shut his own door firmly and pulled the car away from the station before Quistis could even finish her sentence.

"Well," she murmured, "that was interesting."

She tugged open one of the heavy smoked-glass doors of the station house and headed back inside.

_xx_

"Don't tell me you're here to set me free," Seifer said languidly, looking quite relaxed for a man in handcuffs. Then again, it wasn't really a new situation for Seifer Almasy--he'd been cuffed more than a few times as a disciplinary precaution back at Garden.

Xu pulled out the chair across from him smoothly, and spent a good minute deliberately examining her nails. Seifer hated nothing more than to be ignored, to know that he wasn't the center of attention. Unfortunately, he'd been privy to her tricks enough that she wasn't sure what would work with him anymore. Seifer hadn't been in Garden's custody for going on two years now--he probably had changed plenty in that time.

"No, lucky for you, you're our ward for a bit longer."

"Oh, good." Seifer settled back further into his chair, not even bothering to fight the restraints as was his usual tactic. "If only every man were so lucky to spend an hour in your company."

Xu smiled halfway. "You'll be spending significantly more time in my presence when we get you back to Garden."

Seifer narrowed his eyes, the change of expression the only thing altered in his posture. "What makes you so sure I'm going back to Garden?"

Xu flexed the fingers on her right hand experimentally, and crossed her index nail over to her thumb, scratching off an invisible imperfection. "Oh, no reason, really. Just the fact that we can hold you for ten years for getting involved in even the loosest sense in this drug scandal. It goes against all the agreements you made when Garden let you off the hook in the first place."

He sat, silently.

"Unless..." and here Xu _really _enjoyed her job, "you want to tell me _everything _that you know about Damien, about Ninth Circle, and about this." She reached into the pocket of her pants and removed the small silver case, tossing it carelessly on the table. The lid sprung open, and tiny plastic-wrapped blue pills scattered across the steel table top. Seifer lurched forward in his chair for the drug, and was brought up short by the cuffs keeping him restrained to the chair. She let him gather his composure, waiting patiently until he was settled back in his original posture, his body more rigid than it had been before. Xu relished in the way his eyes kept flicking from her to the pills scattered in front of him. It was amazing, really, what a hold addiction had on some people.

He turned his face to her. "If I tell you, then what?"

"We let you out of here and you go back to being the scum of Deling society. And I'll be damned if I care what happens to you."

"What if I don't?"

"You go back to rotting in a Garden cell, and I get the pleasure of being your jailer again," Xu said evenly.

Seifer licked his lips briefly. "Okay," he said finally. "But only if you take off these fucking cuffs."

_xx_

_Galbadia Hotel_

He stood in the shower, rinsing the obnoxiously floral hotel shampoo out of his hair, and tried not to think about dead girls. It wasn't working so well, not after seeing Rinoa so indignant and angry over Damien's unlucky path in the line of fire. Why the hell couldn't she just _stay out of trouble_? Was it that hard to not get involved in things that didn't concern her?

He shut off the water angrily and stepped out of the shower, ignoring the puddle that formed on the tile around his feet as he knotted one of the plush towels around his waist. Sure, he was still a little annoyed about how quickly she had ended everything, but he had thought that he had mostly moved on from it. There were more important things to deal with, like finding Elle's killer.

Of course, despite what he had told Quistis, they _did _need the drug if they wanted to find the junkie who murdered Ellone. Those blue pills were the key; he'd known that from the beginning. If they were lucky, Ninth Circle was the distribution house for all of it, and when Damien woke up from his post-surgery haze, Squall was going to get answers in spades, even if he had to _beat _them out of the kid--

Squall jerked open the door and stalked out into the bedroom.

"Hey," Quistis said, looking up from her seat near the window. "Feel better?"

He shrugged, snatching up the worn Garden Athletics sweatpants he used for pajamas.

"Goodness, I hope there's still hot water left." She smiled faintly, encouragingly, and he simply sat on the edge of the bed, letting the towel fall in a pile on the floor. Quistis stood, crossing to him.

"Hey," she said quietly. "We'll get answers."

"I _know," _he said sharply. "If we didn't, we were trained wrong."

Quistis rolled her eyes and sat down on the bed next to him. "Yes, Commander," she conceded, her tone slipping into gently teasing. She reached for his hand, gently twining her fingers in with his.

He stared at their hands for a long while, his expression indecipherable. Eventually, Quistis extricated her hand from his, and when he looked up, she'd moved the last few inches between them and put her arms around him.

"We'll get it sorted out," she murmured into his ear, her breath warm against his neck. Reflexively, Squall carefully returned the hug, resting his chin on top of her head, his fingers automatically clutching for purchase at the back of her shirt.

Quistis pressed a kiss against his shoulder, her exhalation a gentle sigh.


	9. stopped clock, twice right

_A/N: ...Hi? Don't kill me, please. I missed this fic too much to leave it hanging and unfinished. _

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* * *

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**9. stopped clock, twice right**

_Galbadia Hotel_

He dreamed that night, a crisp-edged comic book of a dream, where panel by panel he watched her die, watched her turn, watched the SeeDs-that-were-not-SeeDs spring into action, watched the spells sputter and die out.

The red of her blood was a violent ink-splotch, a printer's error. He screamed at the page, calling it wrong, that it wasn't the way the story was supposed to go, but no matter how many times he flipped back and forth, the page never changed, the story never corrected itself.

He saw the great maw in the earth, her grave, her Timber-oak coffin lowered again and again, as if the same page were copied over and over and over.

Squall forced his eyes open, the dream pressing at his temples in smears of bright primary colors, fighting for recognition, for acknowledgment. He wasn't going to give it the satisfaction.

Next to him, Quistis sensed his stirring and draped her arm across his chest, her naked form warm against his side, but she did not wake.

Squall played the security footage of the club's last glimpse of Ellone Loire over in his mind, trying to pick out details that he had missed. Rinoa's packet of blue sky, the SeeDs obviously drugged on "mints" that had found their way into the normal supply of blue-tinted peppermints that Ninth Circle had originally ordered. They had found cases of the peppermints in the cold-storage room, too large of a supply to be a coincidence. Damien was a clever bastard, drugging up half the population of Deling in order to keep his business booming, people more likely to dance and drink and tell their friends when everything seemed easier, clearer.

He had palmed one of the pills from Rinoa's stash, and it sat across the room, tucked into the pocket of the pants he had been wearing when hell rained down on Ninth Circle. Carefully, he plucked Quistis' arm from his chest, and stood, his feet sinking into the plush dark carpet as he rose from the bed and crossed to where he had tossed the pants. He fished out the little plastic-wrapped pill, the cellophane crinkling as he turned it between his fingers. It was round, nondescript, easy to mistake for candy. The blue coating gleamed dully in the faint rays of early-morning light that were filtering between the gap in the curtain.

Kadowaki had emailed him some information on the drug, a couple of news articles and a summary of its contents—it was a hybrid of uppers, a party-drug at its core. The police database of Deling was filled with reports of people picked up for a variety of reasons associated with the drug, including murder. There had been three trials alone in the past six months, tourists stabbed or shot or beaten for the cash they carried in their wallets.

People would do anything for a fix, and some tiny part of Squall jumped up and down and screamed that this was probably exactly the reason that Ellone had died, for the purse slung on her shoulder.

He refused to accept it was that simple, though. There was no chance that a mugger would be enough to take out two White SeeD, Garden-trained, drugged or no. It went deeper than that.

His mobile phone rang, then, chirping insistently. Quistis stirred, muttering something that might've been his name, might've been, "shut up." He rose, silently, and picked up his phone off of the small bedside table. The digital clock glowed six-thirteen, and the number on his screen was a Balamb Garden extension. He flipped it open.

"Leonhart."

"Commander," Kadowaki's voice greeted him. Her voice was echoing, like she was calling from inside a cave, or a morgue.

He glanced over at Quistis, and walked into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him, groping his free hand along the wall for the light switch. When he hit it, the light was blinding, and he had to close his eyes hard against it.

"Sir?"

"_What_?" He blinked hard, chasing away bright spots as he leaned against the door.

"I've just gotten a look at Ellone Loire's autopsy report. My feelings on the work of Deling's ME aside, I found something you might want to have a look at—I've emailed you a copy."

"What is it?" There was a sharp tension building up behind his brow, and he rubbed his temples in an effort to assuage it. He had no time for games, no time to read badly scanned in reports in tiny print that was bound to make him blind one day.

"The bullet they recovered from her body...it's a specially modified one, licensed to Garden armories."

He stared at the shower curtain with its ridiculous arty print. Balamb, Timber, Deling. Garden.

_Galbadia _Garden.

The drug, bursting across the map in his mind, a scattershot of _there, there, there._

"Right," he said, finally, and hung up.

_xx_

_Deling Medical Center_

Deling Medical Center was sleepy and quiet at seven in the morning, and Squall chucked his go-cup of coffee in one of the trash bins scattered at the front entrance, tasting nothing but burnt water, but the caffeine had done efficient enough work. Quistis was back at the hotel, placing half a dozen calls, getting everything in gear for the second that Squall gave her the signal—if Kadowaki's reports were right, and he had no reason to doubt them, they were going to have to get tangled up in another Garden's affairs, and the ICGI tended to lay down some heavy paperwork for that sort of thing.

The nurse at the check in station called after him as he blew past her, but Squall ignored her. The last report he had put Damien on the sixth floor; Squall thumbed the elevator call button repeatedly for ten seconds, gave up, and shoved open the door to the stairwell, taking the steps two at a time. When he hit the sixth floor, he was barely winded, and so he didn't pause to catch his breath, just pushed through the door—it rattled ominously, slamming against the wall, but stayed hinged to the frame. He had junctioned Ifrit before he'd walked out of the room, and the GF stalked across his mind-field, snarling in anticipation of battles to come.

There was a doctor in the room, checking some of the monitors, comparing them to the chart in his hands. He looked up, startled, as Squall entered.

"Visiting hours aren't until ten," he said.

"Get out," Squall told him, his voice deadly level; the doctor high-tailed it for the door. There would probably be security here in moments, he figured. He shut the door and checked for a lock. There was none, so he dragged one of the wooden visitors' chairs over and shoved the back of it underneath the knob. It would hold for a minute or two, at least.

Damien lay on the bed, his eyes narrow slits, fighting morphine-induced slumber. He rolled his head in Squall's direction. "What do you want?" he demanded, his voice weak, rough.

"Galbadia Garden—how many of them buy from you?"

"Don't know what you're talk—"

"Don't _bullshit_ me. How many?"

Damien coughed. "Why?"

"_How many?" _

"None of your business."

Squall exhaled sharply, the sound a hiss between clenched teeth. The headache behind his eyes hadn't abated. "There are two ways we can do this. The easy way, where you tell me exactly what I want to know, or the hard way, where I break a toe for every time you don't answer," he said, emphasizing every word. Seifer had always been the one fond of torture in interrogations—Squall found that if you just _threatened_ right, it tended to work. It also required less follow-up paperwork.

He was hoping this was one of the times where it worked.

"Ask...ask..." Damien's forehead wrinkled, trying to think of the name. Squall stepped forward, and with one movement, yanked the scratchy blanket off of Damien, revealing hairy legs and feet with too-neatly manicured toenails. "Ask Rinoa."

"I'm asking _you_. Rinoa's not your bookkeeper," Squall snarled, grabbing hold of the little toe of Damien's left foot and bending it slowly backwards. Damien's eyes widened, and his voice pitched, panicked, Squall's threat looming too close to reality to be comfortable.

"Seifer! Ask Seifer—he deals with that crowd, not me! Don't...don't—"

Squall bent the toe just a little bit farther, and Damien let out a howl, a wasted noise since Squall hadn't even gotten to _breaking _anything yet.

"Almasy?" he confirmed, his tone low, dangerous.

Damien nodded emphatically.

"If you're wrong..."

"I'm _not_, I swear! Seifer knows those guys!" Fat tears were standing out on Damien's cheeks, and Squall shook his head—what the _hell _did Rinoa see in this weak, simpering scum? Was hair gel synonymous with "bravado"?

He let go of Damien's foot disgustedly, and turned on his heel, yanking the chair out from under the knob and _hurling _it across the room, where it smashed into the far wall and splintered into matchsticks. Damien shrieked, cowering against the crash.

Squall left, slipping down the stairwell just as hospital security came around the corner. They called after him, but he went down the stairs faster than he had gone up them, and was out the door and in the rental car before they could catch up.

_xx_

_Vinzer Deling Memorial Park_

He was getting that wired, paranoid feeling that he was being watched, or maybe that was just the pills, but Seifer stood up from the park bench on which he had been sitting, glancing this way and that, _jittery_, man, jittery like he hadn't been since he started taking these things.

His first thought was that Damien had given him a bad batch.

His second thought didn't even get to make it into his mind, because a hand clamped down on his shoulder, pressing fingers into muscle, making him sit, hard, back on the bench.

"Don't get up."

"Squall. What a pleasant surprise," he said, recovering himself from the flash of shock, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Come to make amends for Garden's harsh treatment of an innocent man?"

Squall snorted. "You're hardly innocent, and no."

Seifer rolled his shoulder subtly, trying to work out the pain radiating through it. "What, then? Come to catch up? We could go have a nice cup of coffee—"

"Shut up, Seifer."

He made his eyes wide and round in mock astonishment.

Squall moved to stand in front of him, crossing his arms and glaring. "I have intel that says you were selling blue sky to Galbadia Garden students. Yes or no." It wasn't a question.

Seifer shrugged. "Sounds like you already know the answer."

"You were there, weren't you? That night that Ellone was in the club?"

He shrugged again—god, he was turning into Leonhart; the man had a whole _vocabulary _of shrugs. "I'm in the club a lot," he said. "I don't remember everyone."

"The security tape has you there, at the table right next to hers. Did you talk to her? Did you _drug_ her?"

"God, Puberty Boy, I'm sorry about your sister and all, but I didn't fucking drug her. _Or_ kill her," he added pointedly. "I'm not that much of a strung out junkie."

"But you _saw _her?"

Seifer tapped a finger against his chin, a parody of deep thought. "I do believe I did. I didn't talk to her, though. Rinoa did."

"Did you see anyone else talk to her? Anyone you've got in your...customer base?"

Seifer shrugged. "I'm sure a lot of people talked to her. We're all famous, you know. Everyone talks to us."

Squall had that bright-hot energy radiating off of him, the kind that Seifer knew came with GFs and magic, things he _did not _miss about Garden, along with mitered bed sheet corners, regulations, and really fucking terrible coffee.

"Look, yes, I've sold to some of the Garden kids, but they knew what they were getting themselves into."

"I want names."

"Why? You going to charge me as an accessory to murder if I don't tell you?"

"Yes."

"Go for it. Nothing will stick. I sell to a _lot _of people."

There was a long, white-hot silence in which Seifer briefly considered taking shelter behind the bench in the event that Leonhart hit his Limit.

Finally, the young commander shook his head. "I need your help, Seifer. I need to find out who killed her."

"The great Commander Leonhart needs my help. There's a shocker." Seifer sneered at him, but Squall didn't even dignify him with a change of expression.

"Seifer—"

"Can it, _Commander_." Seifer stood. "I didn't say no."


End file.
